Accent Wall
by dget
Summary: Molly and Sherlock have just moved into their new flat. Molly has some ideas for interior decorating. Established Sherlolly fluffy oneshot. Adult themes.


**Author's Note: **Established Sherlolly, with all the OOC-ness that entails.

000

In retrospect, it's entirely possible that Sherlock brought it all upon himself.

They are spending the first night in their new flat and have just finished christening the bedroom with some particularly loud lovemaking when the subject first comes up. "We should have an accent wall somewhere," Molly announces, somewhat breathlessly.

"An accent wall?" he echoes, unable to find the term in his mental files.

"Yeah, you know, like, everything else is painted in fairly normal colors, but then you paint one wall some really bright and outrageous color, just for fun. To draw people's attention. An accent wall." Her hand is thrust up, fingers splayed in an _I-can-see-it-now _sort of gesture.

"Are these the things that run across your mind after sex?" he asks, amused. "Post-coital interior decorating endorphins? Sexy paint chips and swatches for the drapes and silver hardware and the like? _Women,_" he scoffs.

"Mmm, better watch it," she hums, "or I won't be sneaking you any more molars for a good while – a pity, since I just got a man in with gold _and _silver amalgam fillings, which I imagine would be very useful for your latest project." She rolls on her side to face him, blinking slowly and smiling, and he is quick to drop a repentant kiss on the corner of her mouth. It is very necessary that he know the effects of electrocution on different types of dental work, after all.

000

He's checking his blog for potential cases when she approaches. "Stopped by the hardware shop after work today," she informs him casually, leaning into a half-sit on his desk.

"Mm?" He continues to scroll as he listens. There's a man missing in Bristol – potentially interesting, depending on whether the ex-wife has a military background. Easy enough to check.

"Yes, mostly to look at the paint chips," Molly continues. "I got one of those color-matching apps on my phone, you know, and thought I'd try it out. It worked well. They had the exact color I was looking for. I was thinking we should use it for that accent wall."

"And what color is that?"

There is a soft shushing sound as she slides a palette across the desk towards him. He finally looks away from his screen to glance down at it. It is a series of dusky pinks, darkening as it travels down the paper.

He blinks, confused. "What, exactly, is that color supposed to match?"

And then he looks up to see the wicked gleam in her bright eyes, the flush just visible at the deep gap in her shirt from where she's unbuttoned it after arriving home. "I'm sure you can deduce it," she challenges, her voice a bit throaty.

His eyes widen, and then he smirks, and leans up to press his lips to hers.

000

He's standing, staring at the mess that greeted him this morning after he rolled out of bed – a rare crash after a successful night chasing criminals with John – and headed down to the kettle. A spattered drop cloth covers the floor, the furniture has all been pushed to one side of the room, and various brushes and trays and rolls of blue painter's tape have been left scattered about. A trail of paw prints indicates where Toby stepped in paint at some point. A part of Sherlock's mind is wondering how she'd managed to move all the furniture without waking him up – silly, impulsive Molly, night owl that she is, always getting her spurts of energy at the oddest hours – but most of his considerable brain space is currently being spent ogling the wall. The _accent _wall, which is now indeed the exact lovely color of –

"Morning," he hears from behind. He turns to see her at the bottom of the stairs, clad in nothing but panties and a large t-shirt, looking slightly rumpled from her late night. "What do you think?" She tilts her head toward the wall, eyes alert, watching his reaction.

He glances at the wall once more before turning back to her. "Get back to bed," he orders, urgency plain in his voice. "Right now."

Her eyes widen. "What happened? There's a problem? Something wrong with the case?" There is definitely a little bit of delicious panic in her words.

"Yes," he informs her brusquely. "I'm afraid you desperately need to be fucked. Right this very minute, in fact."

The panic is quickly abandoned for giggles. "You arse," she says, grinning, and strides over to kiss him thoroughly.

"Need to check that match," he mumbles against her lips.

They don't quite make it back to bed.

000

Three weeks after officially moving in, Molly invites John, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson over for dinner, so they can see the new flat. The wine is flowing – in a motley assortment of cups and beakers, unfortunately; they still are far from completing the houseware sets that Molly insists civilized people out of university own – and everyone seems to be having a good time, lingering long after the meal is finished. Sherlock has ducked into the kitchen to refill his glass, and catches Molly talking with Mrs. Hudson. She catches his eye and smiles, but does not break the conversation as he gauges the amount of booze left. He's pouring his glass when he tunes in to her conversation; the two women are talking interior design. _Boring._

"And I love what you've done with the flat, dear. Goodness knows Sherlock can make a homey little place a fright, did you know I had to leave those bullets in the wall? Couldn't get them out, had to have them plastered over. You, on the other hand, very good taste, I do love that dark pink accent wall, so unusual, wherever did you get the idea?"

"Oh, you know, I thought it was just a rather romantic color, really," Molly says, smiling indulgently. "Sort of Victorian."

He snorts and nearly takes a chip out of his mug with the neck of the wine bottle. She meets his gaze and grins.

000

**Author Being Long-Winded: **So I'm trying to make this more plausibly canon-compliant by pretending that Molly gained some confidence and became a sex goddess while Sherlock was gone? I don't even know if painting a wall to match your anatomy counts as a turn-on what the heck Does that work? Cool.

Also, WHO IS LIVING IN 221B IN THIS STORY? I'm thinking that maybe John and Mary are living there because I can't don't want to picture the flat going to someone not involved with our boys.

Disclaimers: I do not ship Sherlolly, so I'm sorry if this feels a little forced. (I tried to keep it as in-character as possible while still making their affection for each other clear... I ended up with Molly affectionate but out of character, and Sherlock in-character but maybe not actually seeming to care much for Molly? He does, though! He just doesn't gush, even in his own head. Sentiment.) Not beta'd or Brit-picked, so any suggestions or corrections are appreciated! Thanks for reading!


End file.
